(15) And Topyard like a troubled minde, A flagge of follie beares.
My Cable is a constant hart, My Anckor luckles Loue: Which Reasons Capstones from the ground, (20) Of griefe can not remoue.
My Decks are all of deepe disgrace, My Compas discontent; And perill is my Northern Pole, And death my Orient.
(25) My Saylers are my sorowing thoughts, The Boateswane bitter sence: The Master, miserie; his mate Is dolefull diligence.
Sir W. H.
F Eede still thy selfe, thou fondling with beliefe, +Go hunt thy hope, that neuer tooke effect, Accuse the wrongs that oft hath wrought thy griefe, And reckon sure where reason would suspect.
(5) Dwell in the dreames of wish and vaine desire, Pursue the faith that flies and seekes to new, Run after hopes that mocke thee with retire, And looke for loue where liking neuer grew.
Deuise conceits to ease thy carefull hart, (10) Trust vpon times and daies of grace behinde, Presume the rights of promise and desart, And measure loue by thy beleeuing minde.
Force thy affects that spite doth daily chace, Winke at the wrongs with wilfull ouersight,